


Fight Fear for the Selfish Pain (it was worth it every time)

by LadySlytherin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Derek's Eyebrows, Derek's Manpain, Fandom Trumps Hate, M/M, Mentions of kidnapping, Misunderstandings, Non-Consensual Body Modification, SBsoulmates, Soulmark AU, Soulmates, Sterek Bingo 2017, True Alpha Scott McCall, auction piece, but vaguely, embedded art, tattooing a baby, which is also mine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 12:57:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11059458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySlytherin/pseuds/LadySlytherin
Summary: After Kate Argent pretended to be his soulmate and burned most of his family alive, Derek resigned himself to a life alone, unwilling to trust the mark on his wrist again.Stiles Stilinski has neverseenhis soulmark - and never will - so he's accepted that he'll never know the person who's supposedly perfect for him.Fate is a funny thing, and it has a way of leveling the playing field in ways no one would expect.





	Fight Fear for the Selfish Pain (it was worth it every time)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sisforsterek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sisforsterek/gifts).



> This is the third of my Sterek Bingo Month fics, but it's also the first one I wrote.
> 
> Theme used:
> 
>  **Soulmates** \- I never planned on writing a soulmate fic, but when I signed up for the Fandom Trumps Hate auction, this was what the winning bidder asked for. She has been perfectly lovely (pre-reading everything else for this event, even) and happily agreed to let me use the piece for Bingo as well as gifting it to her, as it's likely the only Soulmate fic I will _ever_ write and was thus my only shot at claiming that spot on the bingo card. I went a little sideways with her prompt to stay in my comfort zone, but she says she loves it anyway and I'm hoping you do, too.
> 
> Feel free to come bother me on tumblr ((at everything-a-wolf-could-want )). Drop me prompts, see what I'm up to, or just come talk fandom with me. As ever, comments thrill me so leave me love. <3
> 
> ~ Sly

When Gerard Argent’s wife gave birth to a son, he was pleased but disappointed. While many men in positions of power longed for a son to carry on their line, the Argent family was matriarchal. When their second child was a girl, Gerard knew that Kate would one day lead their family and doted on her like the princess she so rightfully was. It was understandable, then, that when her soulmark didn’t appear by the time she was six months old, he began to worry. And when her first birthday passed with the skin of her left wrist still unblemished, he knew one would never appear and his daughter - for whatever reason - was one of the 1% of the population who simply didn’t have a soulmate.  
   
And given how much he loved Kate, and given that he was not entirely sane before that - as few werewolf hunters are, but especially radicals like the Argents - it was no wonder he went completely off the deep end. He bound a thick leather band around his tiny daughter’s wrist - and for consistency’s sake, his son’s as well - and began to lobby for laws that would make such bands mandatory for all children. _Children,_ he declared to the world at large, using the platform of his money to make his voice the loudest one in the room, _should not be raised with the belief that some mark on their skin controls their fates. Children should be children, and adults should have the ability to make a choice about if they ever want to see the mark on their skin or not._  
   
Now, Gerard was not the first person to think this way, but he was certainly the first with so much power - as arms dealers have always had, and will always have, great power - and so there were conversations started that had never been started before. Small groups - cults, if you will - stepped forward, banding behind Gerard and the Argent family, in favor of their laws. They, too, banded their children, and had done so for a number of years. This was all about _choice,_ they said. People deserved _a choice._  
   
And so the world knew nothing about Kate’s lack of a soulmate, and by the time Kate was five, Gerard was making large strides in congress about the laws.  
   
Which, of course, is when other people began to fight back. Among them, Gerard knew, were _werewolves._ And loudest of the wolves was an Alpha named Talia Hale, who had a strong pack and many allies, who lent their voices to hers, until they were as loud as a wolf’s lonely howl beneath the moon. Gerard, of course, could not expose the werewolves as what they were - it was forbidden - but he raged about how humans were not filthy animals, bound by instinct and ruled by base urges. Humans were intelligent and evolved, and should have the right to choose who they spent their lives with, regardless of their soulmarks. For Gerard looked down on the wolves he hunted, and he knew they placed special meaning on soulmates, and denying them that would bring him _almost_ as much pleasure as killing them all would.  
   
Talia, ever the voice of logic and reason, said of course people could choose. There were no laws forcing them to be with their soulmates and a good 15% of the population wasn’t, according to government censuses. But by banding children, you were risking the potential _meeting_ of soulmates, which was unfair and unjust. How could one be expected to choose their soulmate - or not - if they were denied the chance to meet them?  
   
When Kate was ten, a young woman who had been raised in one of the cults who now followed the Argents, ran away and tore off her band and did everything in her power to find her soulmate. Her name was Claudia, and the man she was destined for was a Deputy named Noah Stilinski, and find him she did. But of course, life was not as simple as one would hope and her family was outraged she had left and gone in search of her soulmate, against everything they believed in. But Claudia spoke loudly - and people listened, because she had been banded all her life and therefore her words carried weight - and asked, _Is it not my choice? I chose. I chose my soulmate. I thought that was the whole point - that I should have a choice. The Argents, my family, and all those like them don’t want us to have a choice. They want us to ignore our soulmarks. To pretend they’re nothing. This isn’t a choice; it’s_ their _choice. I made a different one._  
   
And seeing their movement losing momentum with every word Claudia spoke, Argent’s followers grew angry, and anger does strange things to the mind.  
   
When Kate was twelve, Claudia gave birth to a little boy. They named him Mścisław, and loved him dearly. One night, when the baby was only a few weeks old,  a group of anti-soulmark-ers came and stole Mścisław from his crib. Noah and Claudia begged for his safe return, and the police searched high and low, and the whole world waited with baited breath to see how things would play out. A few short days later, Mścisław found his way back into his parents loving arms. But he was _different._  
   
On Mścisław’s left wrist, in permanent black ink that someone had pressed into his skin with a needle, was a thick black band. The tattoo covered the spot where his soulmark would one day be, and so no one would ever see it or know what it was. Guilty that speaking out as loudly as she had, had cost her child any chance of finding his soulmate, Claudia retreated into herself. She stopped speaking against the Argents - who publicly condemned what had been done to the child, but the culprits were never found and no one was ever punished - and eventually the guilt warped her mind. Mścisław - who could not say his own name, and called himself Mischief for a number of years before finally shortening his last name to Stiles and going by that instead - was just a little past eight when Claudia succumbed to her guilt and insanity, leaving him with a grieving father, and a black-banded wrist, and no hope of a soulmate.  
   
And though he knew it would have broken Claudia’s heart, Stiles’ mother was dead and he was tired of seeing the pitying - or sometimes smug - looks people gave him when they saw his tattooed wrist. So Stiles took a leather band, and wrapped it around his wrist, and pretended it was his _choice_ not to know who his soulmate was. And people’s memories are fickle things, so eventually they forgot about the tattoo - not entirely, of course, but in a passing sort of way - and Stiles went about his life as normally as he could.

Two years after Claudia died, Talia Hale’s son Derek - who was sixteen at the time - met Kate Argent. Kate, for her part, was twenty-two, and as evil and insane as her father, if not more. She knew the Hales were werewolves and considered them filth that needed to be cleansed from the world. She also knew the value they placed on soulmarks. So she studied Talia’s son, and memorized the stylized tribal moon and wolf and fire that decorated his wrist, and then she took henna and recreated it on her own blank flesh.  
   
She went to Derek, and cried quite prettily, and told him she was his soulmate. She said she disagreed with her family about soulmarks and werewolves both but that she was afraid of them, and that she wanted nothing more than to be with Derek. She said she loved him. And Derek, who was sixteen and saw the mark on her wrist that matched his own and who desperately wanted to find his soulmate, _believed her._ So Derek told her things he shouldn’t have - because he trusted his soulmate completely - and, in the end, Kate used that knowledge to her advantage.  
   
And as Derek stood beside the ash and ruin of his family’s home - alone except for his older sister Laura, his Alpha now, with Uncle Peter comatose in a care facility from his burns and the rest of their family burned to death - he wondered how his soulmate could hate what they were _so much_ that she could betray their bond and kill nearly everyone he held dear. Derek wore a band after that, the mere sight of the mark on his wrist being enough to turn his stomach.  
   
It wasn’t until six years later - when Derek was grown and had returned to Beacon Hills, and Laura was dead and gone as well, and Peter was awake but more insane than even Kate - that he saw her again, and saw the unmarked skin of her wrist, and realized she was not his soulmate at all. And while part of Derek was thrilled that his soulmate was somewhere out there and was _not Kate,_ the rest of him vowed to never seek his soulmate out because of what Kate had done. He would never know who to believe; who to trust. He would never know for certain if they were lying about the mark on their arm, as he obviously couldn't think clearly when it came to the subject of soulmates and his judgement couldn't be trusted. He kept the band on.  
   
Stiles, meanwhile, had wound up pulled into the same strange world of werewolves that Derek had been born into, by the simple benefit of living in Beacon Hills, and befriending one Scott McCall, and being too curious for his own damned good. Or anyone else’s, for that matter. A night-trip to the Preserve, a bite from Peter to Scott...and Scott was a werewolf. Stiles stayed by his side through thick-and-thin. He helped fight the insane Alpha Peter had turned into after killing his own niece while feral. He fought the Kanima Jackson Whittemore became when the werewolf bite latched onto how damaged he was emotionally. He supported Scott’s on-again/off-again relationship with Allison Argent, Kate’s niece, though she was a hunter’s daughter and wore a leather band like Stiles’ on her wrist and had for all her life.  
   
Scott was adamant that Allison was his soulmate. Allison was adamant that she didn’t want to know. Stiles was adamant that they were both _idiots,_ but he loved them anyway and did his best to be a good friend about the whole thing. Chris was furious his daughter was with - and not with, and with again - a werewolf, but the world was a mess all-around by that time and he really couldn't stop them, no matter how much he tried. And having the supernatural world to focus on, Stiles didn’t think much about soulmates, or soulmarks, and his own band still covered the tattoo on his wrist.  
   
Time ticked on, as it always does, and their little ragtag Pack grew and changed and managed to make themselves into a family of sorts. Derek was Alpha, with Scott becoming one as well a few years in but staying in Derek’s pack because he wasn’t ready to start his own. Peter had come back from the dead not long after being gone, no longer an alpha and less-insane than before his death, so they kept him around. Derek’s younger sister Cora - who had been presumed dead - showed up the summer after Scott was bitten, and that reunion had caused massive amounts of celebration. After biting Jackson - who had eventually stopped being a lizard and turned into a proper werewolf instead - Derek had bitten Isaac and Erica and Boyd, and the three of them were good betas, loyal if a little wild around the edges. Jackson’s girlfriend - and Stiles’ long-time crush - Lydia, was revealed to be a banshee and she too joined their Pack. And one day, through some connections made by Stiles’ father, who was the Sheriff and in-the-know - they found a girl in the woods, trapped as a coyote, and brought her back. Her name was Malia Tate, but she’d been born Malia Hale and was Peter’s daughter who’d been adopted by humans. And so their found-family was strong and large and very close, after all the threats they’d fought off together.  
   
And Stiles didn’t think about his soulmate, even when Isaac turned out to be Cora’s...and even when Erica and Boyd ignored their marks and fell in love...and even when Allison finally stripped away her band and revealed that her mark _did_ match Scott’s.  
   
And Derek didn’t think about _his,_ until the day - the summer after his Pack’s senior year, when they were all preparing for college (as some of them were going away and some were staying close and it would be hard on them all, regardless) - when he finally achieved a full-shift and stood before them all as a great black wolf, eyes glowing a fearsome red. He shifted back and stood there, stunned and as naked as the day he’d been born for the shift had destroyed his clothes. Seconds later, he realized the shift had also broken the leather band he wore around his wrist, and bared his soulmark for the whole Pack to see.  
   
That moment...is where our story _truly_ begins.  
 

~*~*~*~*~*~

   
“It’s pretty.” Lydia remarked, ignoring the way Jackson snorted and rolled his eyes. “And now that we’ve all seen it, I don’t see why he still keeps it covered.”  
   
It had been two weeks since Derek had figured out how to turn into a wolf and, consequently, it had been two weeks since everyone had seen the mark on their Alpha’s wrist. “Maybe because it’s personal?” Allison asked with a pointed look that involved her eyebrows. “Not everyone wants the whole world to know what their soulmark looks like. Some people don’t want _anyone_ to know, not even themselves.”  
   
“Wolves aren’t like that.” Cora’s voice was soft, but sad. “Before the fire, Derek wasn’t banded. I’d mostly forgotten what his mark looked like, actually.” Cora’s was the Hale Pack’s symbolic triskele inside a crescent moon, and Isaac had been so grateful when she’d shown up the summer between their sophomore and junior years because Derek had recognized it on his beta and had sadly informed Isaac that Cora had died in the fire. It had been a pleasant surprise for everyone when that had proven untrue.  
   
“Wolves don’t ever band?” Malia - their resident werecoyote, Peter’s daughter, Cora and Derek’s cousin, and the newest member of their pack - had a growing curiosity for everything to do with weres in general, and the Hales in particular. Though she kept her adopted family’s name - Tate - she was with the Hale Pack more often than not and had moved into the rebuilt Hale house at the end of junior year. “I mean, not _ever?”_  
   
“Soulmates are special for wolves. Especially _born wolves.”_ Cora explained, and when Lydia and Allison shot her cross looks, she shrugged unapologetically. “I know they’re special for humans too, but it’s just… _different_ for wolves. Soulmates for humans...I mean, sure, there’s that whole sparky-bond-thing when you do the soulmate ceremony. And there’s sometimes that fun pleasure-feedback-loop and emotion-sharing and whatever that some people get after the bond. But with wolves, our instincts are driven by the whole soulmate thing. Werewolves almost never marry outside the soulmate bond, because our wolves - our instincts - drive us too much. I think I’ve met, like, _one_ wolf who married someone else, and that was because her soulmate died. And I’ve _never_ met a wolf who didn’t have a soulmark, even though I’ve met, like, a dozen humans who didn’t.”  
   
And Allison - who may have found her soulmate in Scott, but who’d been raised to believe that soulmarks were unimportant and ignorable - was frustrated and annoyed, as always whenever soulmates came up. Because she loved Scott, but she’d have loved him if she’d never looked at the mark on her arm...and she’d have loved him if his arm had been bare, or if hers had been...and she’d have loved him even if their marks didn’t match, like Boyd’s and Erica’s didn’t. And, unlike the rest of the pack, she didn’t think Boyd and Erica would separate one day - amicably or otherwise - just because they stumbled across the people whose marks matched theirs. Not that anyone said that to Erica’s face, because the she-wolf would rip their throat out, but it was still there, all the time; the knowledge that no one thought their friends would last as a couple, because of some stupid lines on their skin. Allison didn’t believe _any_ of the hoopla that surrounded soulmarks, and it was beyond infuriating to be surrounded by people who couldn't seem to cut her beliefs any slack. The fact that they were now chastising Derek - who wasn’t even present to defend himself as he’d gone to pick up the Chinese food they’d ordered - for apparently having similar beliefs about soulmarks was setting her teeth on edge.  
   
So she drew out the only card she had, though she’d never done so before. “You know, it’s super shitty how you guys come after me for this shit all the time - and have since back when I was banded - and how you all doubt Erica and Boyd will last, and now how you’re going after Derek, but not once have _any_ of you ever criticised Stiles for banding. That’s so hypocritical.”  
   
There was a tense, awkward silence. No one spoke. Because yes, Malia had spent nine years as a coyote and Cora had spent six years away from Beacon Hills, but they’d both been in classes with Stiles in elementary school. Before his mom had died. Before he’d banded. Everyone in the room, save Allison, knew why Stiles’ wrist was always covered. Knew why he never took off the band, _ever._ Knew why no one ever said anything about it. And poor Allison, alone in her righteous fury, had no idea what sort of mess she’d stepped into with her words. No one knew how to tell her, either, because no one wanted to upset Stiles and it wasn’t something he talked about so it wasn’t something they knew his feelings on.  
   
Uncomfortable looks passed around the group for several long minutes, before Allison demanded. “What? Why are you all doing that? _What?”_  
   
Several more moments passed before Stiles finally took pity on Allison, and everyone else. He sighed and tugged on the laces holding his band shut. “Stiles, you don’t have to...” Scott protested, albeit weakly.  
   
“Shut up, Scotty.” Stiles’ voice was soft, and steady, but he didn’t look up from what he was doing. “It’s my choice, remember? It’s been my choice since the day my mom died.” He took a slow breath and looked up, giving Allison a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.  
   
Allison couldn’t help trembling a little at the pained look in his eyes. “You...Stiles, I didn’t mean...”  
   
“So...” Stiles cut her off, because if he was going to tell her then he wanted it over with, and thankfully she fell silent quickly. “My mom was raised like you. She was banded all her life, until the day she had enough and took it off to go find her soulmate. My dad.”  
   
Stiles let out a watery laugh, and blinked rapidly to cool the burning prickle that was starting at the back of his eyes because he was _not_ going to cry, dammit. He’d promised himself that when he was eight and he’d banded himself for the first time, sick of all of the pity and the smugness and the _cruelty_ over having lost something he’d never even really had. He was _done_ crying over things he couldn’t control.  
   
“There were people who didn’t like her choice.” Stiles finally got the laces untied and carefully slid his fingers under the leather, loosening the band so he could slide it off. “I was only about three weeks old when I was stolen. They gave me back a few days later - never got caught, or punished, either - but they sent me back with a _token_ of their _great esteem_ for Mom’s decision to unband herself.”  
   
Stiles tugged the leather over his hand and held out his wrist to Allison, who was crying and covering her mouth with one hand, looking horrified. “They...Stiles they tattooed a _baby?_ You...oh god...” She touched his wrist with gentle fingers, then whispered. “I’m _so sorry._ I...I didn’t know, I...”  
   
“I know.” Stiles smiled, small and fragile but full of love for the woman he was positive would marry his best friend one day. “It’s okay, Ally. That’s why I showed you. I wasn’t banded until I was eight. After Mom died. She...she wouldn’t have understood why I wanted to. She didn’t know how cruel people could be when they thought the people who’d done it were right...or how much the pity from everyone else hurt. So for eight years, everyone I met knew I would never know my soulmate, even if they were standing right next to me.”  
   
Stiles dragged his fingers over the black band - about two inches thick, entirely circling his wrist - before saying very softly. “People don’t forget something like that. But with the band...” Stiles shrugged. “Eventually, people stopped talking about it, anyway.”  
   
From the doorway of the loft, Derek cleared his throat, announcing his and Peter’s return. Everyone rushed over to grab food and drinks from them - talking loudly, as though that would help erase what they had just been talking about. It was the sort of forced cheerfulness people used to cover up pain, and Stiles hated it but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Except, of course, covering the source of everyone’s discomfort; his wrist. But as Stiles went to slide the band back on, Peter spoke and the whole room froze.  
   
“Would you like to know what it looks like?”  
   
For several heartbeats, no one spoke. Then Stiles turned to glare over the back of the sofa, heart thundering loudly in his chest. “That’s low, even for you.” He snapped, fingers curled so tightly around the leather band that his knuckles were white. “What the hell does it matter if I want to? _I can’t see it.”_  
   
“No, but Derek could.” Peter said simply and everyone gasped, turning to stare at the alpha, who looked just as confused as the rest of them. Sighing and rolling his eyes, Peter explained. “Talia was planning on offering, once you were of-age, Stiles. Things... _happened._ Obviously. But an alpha can use their power to look past the surface skin - the damaged, tattooed part - to see the mark underneath. Derek could very easily tell you what your soulmark looks like. _If_ you want to know, that is.”  
   
“Or I could do it!” Scott enthused, looking suddenly thrilled.  
   
His eyes lit red and he started towards Stiles eagerly, stopping when Erica barked out a laugh. “Right, and you’ll explain it with your stellar descriptive skills? Or you’ll draw it, maybe, since you’re _such_ a good artist?”  
   
“Your stick figures look like they’re dying of rare diseases, so that’s probably a bad idea.” Derek said, eyebrows pulled low over his eyes, and Scott deflated visibly, eyes turning brown again.  
   
“But you’re an artist.” Cora pointed out. She shrugged when nearly everyone gasped and Derek glared at her, gesturing to several - very beautiful - paintings on the walls. “What? It’s not like your signature isn’t on your art. I don’t know why no one noticed.” She smirked when Lydia snorted, Allison quirked an eyebrow, and Stiles rolled his eyes. “Well, _almost_ no one, anyway.”  
   
There was another long pause, then Stiles said softly. “I...if you don’t want to, it’s okay, I can...” Stiles cleared his throat awkwardly because it was tight and his words were cracking around the edges. “I’m sure Scott can do a good enough job explaining it. It doesn’t have to be you.” Because Stiles had figured out what Kate had done, though they’d never talked about it, and he - better than most - understood how sensitive the soulmark issue could be for some people. And he would _never_ push if Derek wasn’t okay with doing this.  
   
Derek sighed, but shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I don’t mind helping you out.” Derek looked around at everyone who was crowded into the Hale house’s living room and added. “Another day? When there aren’t so many _nosy assholes_ around.”  
   
And Stiles laughed, because everyone looked instantly disgruntled and he felt… _light_. Lighter than he had since the first time he’d understood what the black band around his wrist was...and what it _meant._ “Sure, big guy. Whenever you’re free is fine.” Because as much as Stiles wanted to _know_...he was suddenly, inexplicably terrified as well.  
 

~*~*~*~*~*~

   
Saturday rolled around and Derek hadn’t found time for Stiles in the two days since Peter had casually dropped life changing information in Stiles’ lap regarding his soulmark. Not that Stiles was impatient, because the anxiety was actually outweighing the excitement about the whole deal. This was _life changing,_ after all. Stiles had resigned himself to a life without his soulmate; had accepted that he would simply _never know._ The change to that line of thinking was...unsettling, to say the least. The pack was meeting up that night for bonding time - which basically meant everyone snuggling together on the floor of the den with pillows and blankets and couch cushions, eating snacks and watching movies all night - so Stiles was surprised when Derek showed up at the house. These days he tended to ring the bell, as opposed to sneaking in through Stiles’ window, mostly because Noah scowled fiercely if he found out anyone had climbed through a window when they had a perfectly functional door.  
   
Stiles let Derek in, rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck. “Heeeey, Derek.” Stiles laughed nervously as he stepped out of the way, letting the alpha pass him. “So...do you want something to drink? Water, or soda, or...I don’t know. Orange juice? I have orange juice. I think.”  
   
“I’m not thirsty.” Derek rolled his eyes, then held up a sketch pad and a metal pencil case, raising an eyebrow at Stiles. “Did you want to do this or not? Because I won’t judge you for not wanting to know. Or even if you just don’t want to know _yet._ It’s a lot to take in, and the offer for me to look won’t expire if you don’t do it right now. If you aren’t ready, it’s okay.”  
   
“I want to know.” Stiles was, at the very least, positive about that. He took a slow, calming breath before nodding his head towards the living room. “Come on.”  
   
Derek followed him to the couch, sitting placidly beside Stiles, who immediately began undoing the laces on his leather band. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m not nervous, because I am. Like you wouldn’t believe. But I never thought I could have this. I’ve spent my whole life knowing my soulmate could be standing right next to me, soulmark in full view, and I would _never know._ So yeah, I’m nervous, but I want to know. I _need_ to know.”  
   
“You still might never find them.” Derek said, and his tone wasn’t unkind though the words sort of were. “Plenty of people don’t and they’re still happy. They still marry and have children and live their lives. You shouldn’t feel like you have to do this.”  
   
Stiles lips curved up a little, and he shook his head. “It’s not that. I accepted a long time ago that I’d be one of those people who married outside of a soulmate bond. I accepted that back before I even really understood what I was accepting; what it meant, in every way. I didn’t...I didn’t get a _choice._ No one ever asked me if I _wanted_ to find my soulmate. No one ever asked me anything, because _poor Stiles_ got kidnapped and tattooed and it’s not an option so why even bring it up. But I’m finally getting the choice, to know what it looks like - to know if I even _have_ a soulmark, because hell, I might be part of the one percent that _doesn’t_ \- and I want that chance, even if I never go looking for my soulmate with the information. I just...I want to _know.”_  
   
Derek nodded slowly, blue-green eyes intent as he watched Stiles set the strip of leather on the coffee table. Stiles watched as Derek flipped the sketch pad open to a clean page, then took a graphite pencil and an eraser out of his case. When Derek seemed set-up and ready to go, Stiles extended his wrist to Derek’s side of the couch, tawny eyes wide and hopeful. Stiles held his breath as Derek’s eyes bled red before dropping down to his ink-stained wrist. For a long moment, the whole room was silent except for the ticking of the clock on the far side of the room.  
   
Then Stiles watched as all of the color drained out of Derek’s face. The graphite pencil fell from Derek’s fingers and rolled under the coffee table. The sketch pad toppled off Derek’s lap and to the floor as the alpha stood abruptly and began backing away from the couch, shaking his head. Stiles felt his throat get tight, wondering at the pained look on Derek’s face; at the _sheer agony_ painted across his gorgeous features. And Stiles was painfully reminded of the first time Derek had seen Isaac’s wrist, back before they’d known Cora was alive. When Derek had thought his newly turned beta would never know his soulmate, because his soulmate had died; burned alive by hunters when she was eleven years old.  
   
And Stiles wondered which of the deceased Hales had shared his mark. Wondered what the name of his soulmate had been, back before Kate Argent’s crazy had taken them from him. Wondered if he would have liked them, and how old they’d been, and what it might have been like to be soulmates with a born wolf. Wondered how something he’d resigned himself to never having could be stolen from him just days after finding out he might get to have it after all. Wondered if it was possible to be heartbroken over someone you’d never met. Wondered if you could reasonably grieve for the loss of someone who had never been yours at all.  
   
He waited for Derek to tell him. Waited for the apologies he’d heard Derek give Isaac to start spilling out. He waited for the name, or the age, or even the relationship to Derek...waited for _anything._ But after several stretched out minutes of silence, Derek turned on his heel and fled. Before Stiles realized what was happening, Derek was out the front door - running so fast he left it open behind himself, as though pausing to close it would have meant losing precious seconds he just couldn't spare.  
   
And Stiles was left with a blank page in a sketch pad. And a graphite pencil. And an eraser. And a metal pencil case with more pencils and a small metal pencil sharpener tucked inside it. And an open front door. And a tattooed wrist where his soulmark was. And an aching feeling in his chest, like someone had closed their fist around his heart and _squeezed_ until it bruised.  
   
With shaking hands, Stiles fished his phone out of his pocket and called Scott.  
 

~*~*~*~*~*~

   
Stiles didn’t tell Scott what had happened. Wasn’t ready for anyone to know that his soulmate was dead. So he just told Scott he didn’t want to wait any longer to know if he even had one, and that he’d get Derek to draw it out for him properly when he had time but for now he just _had to know._ And Scott, eager puppy that he was, ran the whole way to Stiles’ house the second he got off of work. Stiles was hoping that if Scott could describe even a _little_ of the mark, that he could then ask Cora or Peter - Peter was less-likely to give Stiles sad looks, anyway - which of the Hales had born the same mark. So he’d know, and he could put a name - if not a face - to the aching sense of loss he felt.  
   
“This is so cool.” Scott eagerly pulled Stiles unbanded wrist closer to himself, letting his eyes bleed red as he grinned widely at his best friend. “You ready to know what’s up?”  
   
When Stiles nodded, Scott dropped his eyes to Stiles’ wrist. Stiles watched as Scott’s mouth fell open in shock and wondered what the hell _that_ was about. It wasn’t like Scott would recognize all of the dead Hales’ marks the way Derek would. Unless...unless it _wasn’t_ a dead Hale? Maybe he just didn’t _have_ a soulmark and Derek hadn’t been able to figure out how to tell him. But there had still been that look on Derek’s face; the one so reflective of the way he’d looked at Isaac way back when. And Stiles just _didn’t know anymore._  
   
“What does it look like?” Stiles finally asked, voice low and thready and a little brittle around the edges because he just couldn't take it anymore. This was so much more than what he’d bargained for; _too much_ more.  
   
Scott swallowed hard, then looked up at Stiles with wide eyes. A smile started to curve his lips a second later and Stiles felt something like relief wash over him. Because Scott’s surprise was giving way to amusement and laughter and something like joy, and all Stiles could think was that Scott _must_ recognize the mark and maybe he’d been reading Derek’s face wrong all along, because...because this was _a good thing._ Scott looked _pleased,_ and Stiles trusted Scott’s judgment - about this, anyway - and if Scott thought the person whose mark matched Stiles’ was a good fit, then it had to be true and everything was going to be okay. Everything was going to be _great._  
   
“Who is it, Scotty?” Stiles asked, voice hoarse but not with fear this time. No, Stiles throat felt tight with excitement and the pressure of tears born of relief that he hadn’t lost his soulmate to the Hale fire after all. “You know who it is, I can tell, so who is it?”  
   
Scott was still grinning as he said the name, looking like he wanted to laugh in delight at the whole thing; like he was tickled pink by the very idea of who Stiles’ soulmate was. “It’s Derek. Your mark matches Derek’s.”  
   
Stiles’ mind flashed back to the look of shock and pain and grief on Derek’s face. To the way Derek had stood, shaky and unhappy and miserable. To the way Derek had run away, like everything that had ever hurt him was nipping at his heels, determined to do so all over again. And Stiles swallowed hard against the sudden certainty that his soulmate wanted nothing to do with him. That the idea of being with Stiles for the rest of his life had sent Derek running. That, despite how much Stiles had come to care for Derek in the years they’d known each other...and despite the fact that Stiles would have called them friends...and despite being _pack_...Derek had looked _devastated_ when he’d seen Stiles’ soulmark.  
   
The bruised ache in his chest started up again, worse than before.  
   
Stiles let the fingers of his right hand brush against the tattooed skin on the inside of his left wrist. He had always believed that _this_ \- the ink marring his flesh - was the worst thing. That not knowing who his soulmate was - never being _able_ to know - was the worst feeling the whole world. There could be no closure; no choice; no nothing. And surely that was worse than anything else; than things not working with your soulmate, or your soulmate dying, or never meeting your soulmate, or not having one, or simply choosing someone else. Because at least then, you _knew._ But he’d been _wrong._  
   
This - the sudden, sickening knowledge that his soulmate had seen his mark and fled, pain and loss and fear chasing themselves across his face all the while - was _worse._ Because Stiles knew who his soulmate was. Knew his soulmate was single, and gorgeous, and a good man. That he was close enough most days for Stiles to reach out and touch if he wanted to. _And his soulmate didn’t want him._  
   
Before Scott even had a chance to realize that Stiles didn’t seem anywhere near as pleased as one would think he’d be, Stiles had jumped off the couch and run for the bathroom, stomach churning and bile climbing his throat. As it burned past his tongue, hot and sickly-sweet, Scott rubbed soothing circles on his back and demanded answers that Stiles didn’t know how to give.  
 

~*~*~*~*~*~

   
Stiles almost didn't go to the pack meeting; almost couldn't bear the idea of being in the same room as Derek, knowing what he knew. But while Stiles has been many things, he'd never been a coward. He had faced down a sneering Jackson and an indifferent Lydia for _years_ , no matter how much it hurt. He had faced down a feral alpha werewolf, and gone so far as to create a self-igniting molotov cocktail to throw at the bastard. He had gone toe-to-toe with a kanima, even after being paralyzed once before _and_ seeing the thing kill someone while he was helpless to do anything. He had been prepared to cut off Derek’s arm, rather than watch the werewolf die. He had squared off with hunters, and werewolves, and all manner of supernatural fuckery in the years since he’d fallen into that world. He wasn’t going to run from _this._  
   
So Stiles begged Scott to hold his tongue - _Please, Scotty, I don’t even know if I want to do anything with this yet. I never thought I’d know who my soulmate was and I’m still adjusting. I just...want a little time._ \- and Scott was reluctant but agreeable, because Stiles didn’t really ask for much. And Stiles still hadn’t told him that Derek had already seen the mark and made his choice by running away, because he wasn’t ready to face _that_ shit-show. But Stiles also wasn’t quite ready to give up the pack, so until the moment Derek actually sent Stiles away, he was going to carry on as though everything was normal.  
   
Even if it wasn’t.  
   
Stiles arrived at the Hale house a little bit late and let himself in, because Derek never bothered locking the door unless he was out or sleeping. It’s not like a burglar was going to catch him unawares, after all. And the property was set with more magical protections than Stiles had ever dreamed existed - as well as a state-of-the-art surveillance system - so it wasn’t like hunters were going to have better luck than the average thug. He could hear the rest of the pack laughing and teasing from the front hall, and wondered if anyone had noticed him pulling up or coming inside. Other than Derek, of course, because Derek _always_ paid attention to that sort of thing.  
   
He carefully toed off his shoes, then hung his hoodie up on a hook by the front door. It had been warm enough he hadn’t needed the thing just now, but by the time he left it would likely be midnight or later and just cool enough to merit the extra layer. Stiles had a tendency to get cold easily, which was why he was always wearing long sleeves, even in the summer. He shuffled his feet and fussed with the sleeves on his plaid overshirt, half because he wasn’t sure he was ready to see Derek - even with the pack as a buffer - and half because he was hoping Derek would come and see what was keeping him and then he could talk to the alpha alone. And a _little_ bit because he felt like he might have a panic attack at any second, but he was doing his best not to focus on that because he didn’t want that _maybe_ feeling to turn into it actually happening.  
   
The sound of someone clearing their throat had Stiles’ head snapping up, heart jackrabbiting against the inside of his ribs and amber eyes wide, to see Derek standing in the doorway.  
   
For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Then, in a breathless voice, Stiles managed to force out a handful of words. “Ah...hi, Derek.”  
   
“I’m sorry.” Derek muttered, eyes dropping to stare at the floor between them. “For...leaving. Like that.”  
   
Stiles swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat, and forced his lips to curve up into a reasonable facsimile of a smile even as he pushed out a stuttering laugh. “It’s fine. I, uh...I get it. I...” Derek’s eyes had swept back up, between one heartbeat and the next, and Stiles’ smile slid away again. “Look, I, uh...I asked Scott, and he said that...”  
   
Derek’s face was turning pink and the tops of his ears were red and he looked like he was going to run again, so Stiles spoke faster, though he didn’t know what he was going to say until he was saying it. “I never expected to have a...I mean, I can live _without_ having one. I’m not...I won’t _break_ if you don’t...if you _can’t...”_ Stiles cut himself off, shaking his head, and added quietly. “Scott doesn’t know you know. No one does. No one _has_ to. I can tell Scott it’s my choice not to tell you, and we can just...pretend you don’t know. Pretend neither of us knows, even. It doesn’t have to change anything.”  
   
“Is that what you want?” Derek whispered, and his voice was a little hoarse. The color had faded back out of his face and he looked pale, and uncertain, and painfully young. “Do you want to just...not know?”  
   
“I don’t want to lose the pack.” Stiles whispered back, praying that the rest of the weres were too busy doing whatever they were doing to eavesdrop on their alpha; praying their voices were low enough not to draw attention. “And I won’t pressure you. I...I know you don’t...I mean, I know I’m not what _anyone_ would pick, if they could, and I...”  
   
Stiles’ breath hitched uncomfortably in his chest, but he curled his fingers into his palms, nails biting in, doing what he could to ground himself as he finished weakly. “You _can_ pick. This doesn’t have to mean anything. I won’t tell anyone, and I...it’s fine. I can live with just being pack. I can...I can be okay with you never being more than my alpha. You deserve a choice.”  
   
There was a pause - a long minute where the front hall was filled with a silent tension that seemed to get heavier and more oppressive with every passing second - then Derek asked lowly. “And if I choose you?”  
   
Stiles’ mouth fell open, then moved silently as though he were trying to make words but had temporarily forgotten how to do so. Derek just stood there, face blank but the set of his shoulders giving away how tense he was. How completely _terrified._ “But...” Stiles managed to find his voice at last but it was thready and anxious, and his heart was acting like it wanted to push past his ribs to bounce agitatedly at Derek’s feet, and his head was spinning as he struggled to have this make sense. “You ran. I...I thought you didn’t want me.”  
   
Derek’s blank look melted away, and he looked stricken; as though Stiles’ words had reached inside him and grabbed hold of something painful and _twisted,_ viciously. “I’m sorry.” Derek reached out and Stiles stared in stunned disbelief at the way the alpha’s fingers trembled before they made contact with his cheek, curling tenderly along the side of Stiles’ face. “I’m _so_ sorry I made you feel that way. That I didn’t explain.”  
   
A second hand joined the first, Stiles’ face cradled between large palms and long fingers as Derek shifted closer, dropping his forehead down to rest against the teen’s. Stiles could feel Derek’s breath - warm and damp and smelling faintly like Cool Ranch Doritos - puffing against his mouth with every word the werewolf said. “Of course I want you, Stiles. You’re my soulmate. You’re _mine._ I want you more than I realized I _could_ want someone and I thought that would be terrifying but it’s _not._ Because I _know you,_ Stiles, and I trust you. You would never hurt me, or our pack.”  
   
“But...” Stiles let out a shaky breath, hating himself a little for the way it hitched in his chest; knowing Derek could hear it do so, and hating that too. “You never wanted me before.”  
   
“I thought I was done with that part of my life.” Derek admitted, his thumbs stroking soothingly along Stiles’ cheekbones even as he pulled back a little. Not far; just enough so that Stiles could see the honesty and hope and affection written across Derek’s gorgeous face. “I told myself, after Kate, that nothing was worth the risk. That no _person_ could be worth the risk to the ones I love. I swore I’d never blindly trust my soulmark again. And wolves...we don’t go outside soulbonds, unless we _know_ our soulmate is dead. Our wolf will always resist. I never imagined my soulmate would be someone I’d come to trust. I never thought I could love them, without even realizing it, before I ever saw their mark.”  
   
Derek took a slow breath, then admitted. “Seeing my mark on your skin - knowing you’re _mine_ \- was like opening a door in my house I’d never noticed before and realizing the room on the other side was full of things I hadn’t even known I’d owned but that I recognized the second I saw them. I trust you, Stiles, and you’re pack, and that won’t change if you don’t want to be with me, I promise. But I want you, and I love you, and as far as my wolf and I are concerned, you will _always_ be mine.”  
   
Stiles could feel the tears stinging the backs of his eyes, hot and sharp and full of a million things he’d never imagined feeling all at once. Like love - because he _did_ love Derek, he’d just never thought it would amount to anything because Derek was so closed off - and hope, and relief, and confusion, and anger at all the time they’d lost, and grief, and fear, and...and _so much._ But stronger than anything else was the look on Derek’s face when he’d seen Stiles’ mark, and the pain written on his face in those moments before the alpha had run away, and he still _didn’t understand._  
   
And as much as Stiles wanted to lean into Derek - to wind himself around the other man and never let go - he didn’t. Instead, he slowly stepped back, breaking contact with the werewolf and struggling to ignore the defeated way Derek folded into himself, as though he’d expected Stiles to reject him all along and was resigned to it. As though he couldn't bring himself to fight for Stiles, because it would only make it hurt _more_ when he lost. As though he couldn't imagine his soulmate wanting him back. As though he imagined _Stiles_ could never love him, when nothing was further from the truth.  
   
But as much as he hated seeing that pain there, Stiles had to _know._ “Why did you leave?” He was a little amazed at how steady his voice was; soft and low and even. “When you saw it, why...why did you look at me like that and then _leave?”_  
   
Grief - fresh and sharp and clearly agonizing - painted itself across Derek’s face again, slicked along the edges with a searing sort of fury Stiles hadn’t seen in those brief moments at his house earlier. “You were _right there,_ the whole time, and I...I remember seeing you at the library, when Mom brought Cora for the children’s storytime, when you were so little you still did that baby-lisp thing toddlers do on some words. I remember the time you ran right into me in the grocery story, sniffling and tear-stained, because you’d gotten distracted by a display and then wandered away and you couldn't find your mom. I was twelve, and I could hear her calling for you from a couple of aisles over, frantic and worried, so I took your hand and led you back to her. You can’t have been more than six.  
   
“And I remember going with Mom to the hospital, to bring flowers, because she always tried to take care of the whole town.” Derek’s voice was tight with tears and frustration, and his eyes were flickering red as they stayed locked on Stiles’. “You were so _small,_ curled into the hospital chair, watching your mom with huge eyes and looking like your whole world was ending. And part of me wanted to wrap around you - to pull you onto my lap and promise you that things were going to be okay - but I was fourteen, and I barely knew who you were, and I had no idea why I wanted to protect you so much, so I pushed it down and pretended I didn’t and just took you to the cafeteria when Mom asked me to.”  
   
Stiles was crying now as well, silent tears streaming down his face, because he remembered the day Talia Hale had come to see Claudia, and Derek Hale - who’d always seemed larger than life, and _so cool_ \- had taken him for jello and spent a few precious minutes talking to him. And he wondered now what Talia had talked to his mom about, though he hadn’t at the time because grown-ups were always asking him to leave the room so they could talk about what was happening, as though Stiles were too young or too stupid to understand that he was losing his mother one piece at a time. Now he wondered if maybe she’d told Claudia that she could see past the tattoo. If she’d promised Claudia that one day, when Stiles was older, she’d tell him what his soulmark looked like. He wondered if Talia had ever looked, and seen that it matched her son’s, and if she had told Claudia that one day she’d make sure their boys got together. Stiles sort of hoped she had; hoped that his mom had died with that guilt she’d carried around for so long finally put to rest.  
   
And Derek was still talking, voice nearly hoarse with emotion, words pouring out like now that he’d started he wasn’t quite sure how to make them stop. It was a feeling Stiles knew too well. “I remember seeing you after she died, and the band you started wearing around your wrist. The day you returned to school after the funeral, and Cora came home and told Mom how you’d covered the tattoo, and how Mom’s face got tight and sad and I...I wonder now, if she _knew._ If the reason she never pressed me to look for my soulmate, when she encouraged Laura and Cora and all of our cousins to look, was because she’d already looked and knew it was you and was just waiting for you to be older before she told me. And I remember when the fire happened, and they took Peter to the hospital and Laura and I were brought to the Sheriff’s station, and...  
   
“And we were covered in soot, and everything smelled like smoke and ash, and...” Derek’s voice was breaking now, and he looked like he _hated_ himself, and everything in Stiles screamed for him to reach out and grab hold and soothe and comfort and _never let go,_ but he couldn't quite take that step. Not yet. “And you were off to one side, at someone’s desk, doing homework or reading a comic book or something. And you looked up and over at us, and I don’t know how you knew but I could tell that you did. You _knew_ we’d just lost everything, and that we were hurting, and maybe it was because you’d seen that same look - like the whole world’s just fallen out from under your feet - on your own face enough times that you recognized it on ours, but I could tell that you knew and you looked like you wanted to say or do something, but your dad was talking to us. Talking to Laura, really, in quiet tones about custody paperwork, and insurance payouts, and making arrangements for...for everything. So you stayed where you were, but you kept looking over and you were _so young_ still but all I wanted was to climb onto your lap and curl up and cry and let you make it better, and it made _no sense_ and I thought it was just the grief, and I...”  
   
Derek’s voice broke again, and he whispered. “You were _right there,_ the whole time. I could have reached out and touched you, but I...I didn’t _know._ And I ignored all the signs because I was never any good at listening to my instincts unless I had _proof_ right under my nose. But all I could think, when I saw your mark, was that...that all of the times we’d met, I...if things had been different, I’d have _seen it,_ and we could have...I could have been there for you, when your mom...and Kate, she wouldn’t have been _able to...”_  
   
And that was it. Stiles couldn't stand against that; against the broken look on Derek’s face, or the way his voice cracked under the strain of what he was saying, or the instincts telling him to _comfort_ and _protect_ that he’d always had, the same way he’d always trusted Derek to keep _him_ safe, even when logic said Derek was threat. He staggered forward, across the small bit of distance he’d created between them, and pulled Derek into his arms. It didn’t matter that Derek was technically bigger than him, because he was only really taller by an inch or so and god knew the alpha was really good at curling into himself; at making himself smaller. So Derek fit into his arms like he was meant to be there, and Stiles let the older man bury his face in his neck. He fisted one hand in the soft material of Derek’s henley, just at the small of his back, and carded the fingers of his other hand through Derek’s dark hair, making soft shushing sounds as he tried to comfort him.  
   
“It’s okay, Der.” He knew his own voice was strained and damp, but he pushed the words out anyway, in between the soothing sounds he was still making, because they _both_ needed them. “We found each other anyway, right? In spite of everything...shhh, I know, I...Der, I don’t...I don’t blame you, for not knowing. Shhh...shhh, it’s alright, it’s fine, I...I’m here, and you’ve got me, and it’s...I’m sorry I wasn’t there, before, but I’m here now. And I promise, I’m not going anywhere, so...shhh, just...it’s okay now, shhh, shhh.”  
   
And Stiles knew that the pack _had_ to be hearing all of this. Knew there was no way they weren’t listening the moment Derek’s voice got strained, no matter how quiet they’d been, but no one came into the front hall and Stiles was grateful. Because Derek needed to let the poison out, and he needed Stiles to comfort him, but he didn’t need to break down in front of _everyone._  
   
It took long minutes, but finally Derek’s body stopped shaking so hard. His sobs died down to the occasional hitched breath. His sniffles didn’t sound quite so wet. And when he drew back - not far, as Stiles’ hands were still on him and his own were still fisted in the front of Stiles’ graphic tee - Derek looked at Stiles hopefully and asked in a hoarse voice. “Can we...I mean, if you’re okay with it, I...I want to lay down, and I...I don’t want to be...”  
   
“Shhh...” Stiles soothed again, nodding slow but firm. “Of course. Do you...do you want just me, or do you want to join the pack? Whatever you need is fine, okay? Just tell me.”  
   
Derek’s eyes flashed red for a second, then he admitted in a voice that sounded far too small and young for someone who looked like Derek. “Pack, I think. For now. Just you, later. If...”  
   
“Of course.” Stiles agreed, even though Derek hadn’t actually managed to voice the question. “Of course I’m okay with that.” He let his hands drop from Derek’s hair and back, then carefully loosened the alpha’s grip on his shirt before tangling their fingers together. He gave Derek’s hand a squeeze as he started leading him towards the den; towards their pack. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get our snuggle on.”  
   
Derek huffed out a laugh at that, and though it sounded a little wet around the edges, Stiles counted it as a win. As he tugged Derek into the den, he realized they weren’t the only ones who’d been crying. Everyone had small smiles on their lips - even the humans of the group, who Stiles figured had been told what was happening in the hall by the rest of them - but they also had red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Stiles thought maybe it should have been embarrassing, knowing something so private was so widely known, but somehow it wasn’t. It was actually soothing, knowing they already knew and that neither he nor Derek would be expected to explain.  
   
Without a word, everyone shifted around on their cushion-and-blanket pile, making space for Derek and Stiles to slot themselves into the group. And as they settled in, warm bodies pressing close on all sides of the alpha and his soulmate, Stiles realized that _this_ was the core of what pack meant. It was silent understanding, and solidarity, and comfort. It was the way Lydia pushed play and the movie that was queued up was The Avengers. It was the way Derek was curled into his side, but he could feel Scott’s leg touching his arm and Malia’s hand was petting Derek’s hair and Isaac was curled up near their feet with Cora. It was the way no one made fun of them, or even teased them kindly, because everything was still raw and aching and exposed and they all _knew that._ So instead of poking at the wounds, they helped insulate Derek and Stiles from the world while they healed.  
   
And when Derek turned his head and brushed his mouth against Stiles’ for the first time, the pack breathed a collective sigh of relief and contentment, because they didn’t just share grief. They shared joy, too.  
   
And somehow, despite all of the pain and all of the horrible things that had happened and all of the things that had nearly kept him and Derek from ever being together...Stiles had never been happier.  
 

[](https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipOkZw-mBjuAIzGiaw__RqB993_2I2D1UtMI5l9ROQPiXmBARtyjUNDmTRltr5dN6w?key=dF9UT19Cblp4TEpKOTlkczBpNWFidzhTVWZGbUlR&source=ctrlq.org)

 

** Epilogue **

   
Stiles smoothed down the front of his jacket, nervous energy making him twitch restlessly. Noah laughed and captured his son’s wrists, giving them a light, reassuring squeeze. “You’re _fine,_ Stiles. You look great.”  
   
“No, I...I know.” Stiles huffed, glancing at the full-length mirror and smiling a little because the red suit and waistcoat, coupled with the slate-blue shirt, actually looked _amazing_ on him, and he needed to remember to thank Lydia about three thousand times for picking it out. “I just...I...”  
   
Noah took in the panic creeping across Stiles’ face and got serious, because this didn’t look like normal wedding jitters to him. “What’s wrong, son? Talk to me.”  
   
Stiles swallowed hard, dropping his eyes down to his wrist and the black ink still encircling it. “Wh-what if it...doesn’t work?”  
   
Noah’s heart ached and he pulled his son into his arms. “Oh, Stiles...”  
   
Because Stiles and Derek hadn’t wanted _just_ a wedding. They were soulmates, and they wanted the full Bonding Ceremony and all of the mysticism that went with it. They wanted to watch as their marks sparked against each other, linking them forever. They wanted to see if they got any of the fun little _extras_ that sometimes came with the bond. They wanted to claim everything that had almost been taken from them, several times over. They had put off marrying for almost a year because of that, waiting until Stiles had finished his first year at U.C. Berkley so they’d have the whole summer to let the bond settle before he’d have to go back. Which wasn’t to say that Derek wasn’t going to spend as much time in Stiles’ off-campus apartment as he possibly could, because he _was,_ but he couldn't leave Beacon Hills entirely or he’d risk another pack trying to claim the territory while he was away.  
   
But despite the research Stiles had done, no one who’d inked over their soulmark had ever had a bonding ceremony. So there was no way of knowing if the bond would take, or if the ink would prevent it. Stiles had insisted they try; had insisted it was going to work. He had seemed so confident that everyone else had pushed aside their doubts and worries, because Stiles was hardly ever wrong. Now, seeing the doubt - the _fear_ \- creeping in on his son, Noah wondered how he’d missed seeing it sooner. He wondered how he’d missed that the bravado was merely that, and that Stiles was terrified that, even having found his soulmate - against all odds - this still wouldn’t work and he’d be denied the bond he craved.  
   
“It’s going to work.” Noah murmured, pressing a kiss to his son’s tousled hair and tightening his arms around Stiles’ lean form. Stiles made a sound of disbelief and Noah let steel creep into his words. “No, Stiles, don’t do that. I mean it. This is _going_ to work. Because even if the bond doesn’t take, you and Derek are soulmates and you’re going to _make it work._ Your relationship - your _life together_ \- doesn’t hinge on whether or not that spark happens, so don’t let that scare you. If it happens, great. If it doesn’t, and you let it ruin today - for you, or for Derek - you will regret it for the rest of forever. Don’t do that, to either one of you.”  
   
Stiles stayed tense for another few seconds, then he sighed and curled into his father’s arms. “Yeah, okay. When did you get so smart, anyway?”  
   
“The day I met your mom.” Noah admitted, even as he and Stiles broke apart. A knock on the door had Stiles tensing up and Noah rolled his eyes as he went to open it. “Hey, Scott. Everything ready?”  
   
“Yup.” Scott stuck his head in the room to shoot a huge grin at Stiles. “You look almost as nervous as Derek.” He laughed when his best friend stuck his tongue out childishly. “Two minutes, okay?”  
   
Stiles just nodded.  
   
The wedding went smoothly - Derek’s vows were so beautiful everyone cried, and Stiles’ were laced with just enough humor to bring the mood back to an even-keel while still being full of love - and Stiles relaxed slowly, by degrees. The huge smile on Derek’s face - the _real_ smile he had but seldom used, lighthearted and charming and full of sunshine - helped a lot. It was hard to feel anything other than warm and happy and good when Derek smiled at you like that, and Stiles was no more immune to it after a year of being together than he had been the first time Derek had smiled at him that way. And when the time came for the Bonding Ceremony, Stiles didn’t hesitate at all.  
   
Stiles and Derek stepped close and brought their left arms up, bent at the elbows, fingers pointed towards the ceiling, and pressed them together from elbow to wrist. Then, in a smooth movement - one they’d practiced hundreds of times during the class they’d had to take, which Stiles had thought was stupid until they’d actually _tried_ to do the motion and failed spectacularly - they each took a half-step back, extended their arms, and without breaking the contact between their wrists managed to get their arms side-by-side. Then it was a simple matter of curling their fingers around each other’s forearms, still taking care to keep their wrists touching. The officiator wound a slim golden rope around their wrists several times, binding them snugly together before he began intoning the appropriate binding words.  
   
It didn’t take long before a bright spark of light flashed between their bound wrists and Stiles had to lock his knees to keep from collapsing under the weight of his relief. Derek’s fingers squeezed, just a little tighter, just for a few seconds, but it was enough. It reminded Stiles that he wasn’t alone - not in his fear, or his relief - and that everything was going to be alright. He wasn’t sure what they would have done if the flash of light _hadn’t_ happened, but he was suddenly positive it would have been okay. Seconds after the flash, Stiles felt a wave of searing heat lick across his wrist. He gasped, startled and a little bit pained, but it didn’t last long. The officiator looked concerned, but Stiles forced a smile back to his lips and waved it off, so the man went back to what he’d been doing, finishing the whole process up. As he did - saying a few more words and then slowly untying and unwinding them - Stiles felt something else.  
   
He blinked wide, tawny eyes up at Derek, trying to ask silently if Derek was feeling the same thing he was. If the stunned look on Derek’s face was anything to go by, the answer was _yes._  
   
Stiles knew, of course, that sometimes soulmates got a little something _extra_ after they bonded. The feedback loop of sexual pleasure seemed like a fun little bonus, and Stiles had somewhat jokingly said more than once that he hoped they got that. And he’d heard of things like telepathic communication, and being able to push thoughts or images into each other’s minds. The most commonly heard-of thing, truthfully, was the emotional link; the ability to sense what your soulmate was feeling, even from the other side of the world.  
   
Stiles had never imagined it would feel like _this._  
   
He wanted to ask - had more questions than he knew what to do with - but all of that was overshadowed the second they separated their now-unbound wrists. Stiles moved to straighten his shirt and jacket sleeves and went stock-still, staring down at his wrist in disbelief. It took a minute for Derek to notice - he was fixing his own sleeves, after all - and Stiles half-wondered if it was the emotion-sharing that clued Derek in to the fact that he needed to pay attention to Stiles for a second. Whatever the reason, Derek looked down as well and saw the same thing Stiles saw. For a moment, neither of them moved or spoke or even _breathed._  
   
Then, very slowly, Derek reached out and captured Stiles’ left hand in his. He brought Stiles’ hand up to his face, then brushed his lips over the inside of Stiles’ wrist with so much tenderness it made Stiles _ache._ He looked wondering, and awed, and like he’d been given something precious. Stiles sort of felt the same way. Because there, on the inside of his wrist, it was as though someone had taken an eraser to the tattooed band he’d had for longer than he could remember. The rest of the heavy black ink was still there, like some sort of weird bracelet, but Stiles’ inner-wrist was clean. And there, in the same soft, rich henna-brown that all soulmarks were, was the baying wolf with the flames at its heart and the crescent moon, in full tribal style. There, stark against snow white flesh, was the soulmark that matched Derek’s.  
   
Stiles’ throat was tight, but he smiled blindingly up at Derek before leaning in to kiss him, hard and fierce. When they broke apart several moments later, to the sound of applause and cheering from their friends and family, Stiles said softly. “Thank you.”  
   
“For what?” Derek asked.  
   
“For choosing me.” Stiles told him, because really, that was what it all came down to. Choices. His, Derek’s, a ton of other peoples’...but every one of them had led to the moment the two of them bonded, and it was more than worth it.  
   
As they headed out of the church and towards the limo that would take them to the reception hall, Stiles made a mental note to ask about the things he could now feel from Derek. Not the overwhelming happiness, or the all-consuming love, because those he completely understood. Hell, he was feeling them himself. No, he wanted to ask about the wildness licking at his awareness. The feral, demanding thing that seemed to pace along the edges of his mind, practically salivating for a taste of Stiles. He could feel how much that part of Derek - because it _was_ a part of Derek, moreso than he’d ever realized, given how Derek spoke of _‘the wolf’_ like a separate entity - wanted him; how it craved Stiles in a way he’d never imagined. And now that he _knew…_  
   
Well, Stiles was going to demand answers. Like why the hell Derek had been holding back when they were together instead of ravishing him the way he clearly wanted to. He wanted his husband - and _fuck,_ that was a thrilling thing to think, that Derek was _his husband_ \- to let go of his control. Wanted _all_ of Derek, even the wild parts, and he planned to make that _perfectly_ clear. Just as soon as they were alone.  
   
After all, wasn’t unrestrained passion the sort of thing honeymoons were made for? Stiles wasn’t sure, but he certainly hoped so. And once the honeymoon was over, well...  
   
Stiles couldn't wait to get started on the first day of the rest of their lives.  
 

**_~ The End~_ **


End file.
